Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom

by Vanessa Kelly

  She felt a burning sensation, but it quickly subsided into a pleasing ache that had her instinctively clenching her inner muscles around his fingers. Griffin rumbled his approval. He moved his hand in a slow, deliberate movement, pumping inside her before pulling his fingers out to slick over the tight bud. It took only a touch for every muscle in her body to pull tight and then release in one magnificent, throbbing pulse, forcing a strangled shriek from her lips. She shuddered and pressed into his hand to draw out the delicious contraction until it gently ebbed away.

  Damp, messy, and dazed beyond measure by the sensations he’d induced in her, Justine slowly collapsed onto Griffin’s chest.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she panted. She sprawled on him in a clumsy heap of limbs, but didn’t have the energy to do anything more than that.

  Griffin shifted her a bit, turning her head sideways and easing her legs down to ride low around his hips.

  “I’ll take that comment as a sign of approval,” he murmured, stroking his hand down her perspiring back.

  “I’ve never felt anything like it, I can assure you,” she managed, trying to make light of the entirely earth-shattering experience. “If I’d known things would be like that, I would have been a great deal more receptive to your advances on our wedding night.”

  His laugh vibrated through her body, making her shiver with pleasure. She sighed and snuggled closer, relishing the feel of his arms and legs enveloping her, all hot skin and hard muscle, with his rampant erection still nudging between her legs. Never had she felt so relaxed, so physically replete, or so . . . safe.

  Justine drowsed like that for a few minutes until she became aware of two things. The first was that her back and legs, exposed to the air, were rapidly cooling. The second was that Griffin’s body felt as hard as iron, tensed beneath her even though his hands were still gently stroking her skin.

  She lifted her head. His eyes smoldered and his handsome features seemed stretched tight, almost as if he was annoyed or in pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Anxiety gave her a sudden jab. “Are you sorry we did this? Do you want to stop?”

  His expression lightened and he laughed. “Of course not. We’re just getting started, love. I was simply letting you catch your breath before . . .” He trailed off on a meaningful note.

  “Before we consummate our marriage?” she whispered.

  Griffin nodded, his gaze so intent, her mouth went dry. There was no denying the next few minutes had the power to change the course of her life forever.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, suddenly looking concerned. She loved that about him. Griffin was the most rampantly masculine and proud man she’d ever met, but he always seemed to be thinking about her comfort.

  “A little,” she admitted. “I think the stove has gone quite cold.”

  “Let’s take care of that, shall we?”

  Thinking he meant to build up the fire, Justine started to shimmy off him. But she let out a gasp when he quickly shifted, rolling her over and coming down on top of her. The cot swayed alarmingly and she held her breath, expecting them to go tumbling down at any moment.

  Griffin shifted again, carefully placing his forearms on either side of her shoulders to steady the cot.

  “It will be a miracle if we don’t end up on the floor,” Justine muttered.

  He smiled down at her, the expression on his face tender and yet hot with arousal. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

  He lowered his head until their lips met in a slow, damp kiss that made her head reel. It seemed so natural now to open to him. Their tongues played, tangled, and tasted each other in slow, sensual glides. Justine wound her arms around his neck, sighing with pleasure, drinking up the slow passion he so expertly fed her.

  Then he pulled back a few inches. Her lips tingled from the warm pressure of his, a pressure she was eager to feel again.

  “Are you ready?” His quiet voice was at odds with the gleam in his hawklike gaze and the hectic flush across his sharp cheekbones.

  Justine stared back at him, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know if she truly was ready for this—to bind herself to Griffin in so profound a way. But she also knew she couldn’t say no. She wanted this—wanted him—more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

  Her throat tightened so she simply nodded, hoping he could see in her eyes what she felt—trust, yes, but also a measure of trepidation over what the future held for both of them. And, even more importantly, a longing and a need for him she could no longer deny.

  Something blazed in his eyes at her nod—a fierce, bright emotion. Then he was nudging her legs wider apart and settling more heavily between them, the broad head of his erection slipping easily between her wet folds. Slowly, he began pushing in, parting her flesh with a careful, deliberate invasion.

  Justine sucked in a breath, instinctively pushing back against the sharp sting as she clenched around him. She stared up at him, noting the strain on his tight features, digging her nails into his rocklike shoulders as he held himself back.

  Griffin eased down to brush her lips in a soft, comforting kiss. He hooked a hand under her knee. “Pull your legs up, Justine. Yes, that’s it.”

  She moved at his urging and let her breath go as the pain began to fade. In fact, as he slowly rocked into her, she gave in to the impulse to pull her knees up high and wide, opening herself to him.

  He groaned and dipped his head, his long hair coming loose from its leather tie, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. She pulled the strip of material from his hair and flung it away, then tunneled her fingers through his thick, long locks, smoothing them down over his back. Justine felt like she was drowning in a world of sensation and emotion, and she willingly went under.

  “My God, Justine,” he gasped before planting a searing kiss on her mouth.

  Then his movements quickened, his erection filling her. Desire coiled low in her belly. She wrapped her legs around his lean flanks and her arms around his neck, pushing her breasts up against him in her desperation to feel every part of his body on hers. She felt on fire as he took her, melting into him, dying with the pleasure of Griffin inside her, around her, driving deep into her soul.

  He shifted, rocking into her high and fast, nudging his hard length over her most sensitive flesh. She arched into him as tiny contractions teased her, clutching at him with all the strength left in her body. A moment later, he rolled his hips with one last, hard push, jolting her to the very core. With a harsh groan, he stiffened, shaking in her arms with the force of his release. Then slowly and with careful control, he lowered himself on top of her until he blanketed her body, his heaving chest pushing her into the blankets.

  Justine smoothed her hands down the long fall of his hair, blinking hard against the sudden rush of emotion that had her eyes stinging with tears. It didn’t make sense to want to cry, since she’d loved what he’d just done to her. But the moment seemed replete with a harrowing tenderness, at least for her. Instinct told her, however, that Griffin wouldn’t welcome any such emotional outpourings, particularly since she’d be hard-pressed to even explain what they meant.

  Finally he moved, lifting from her body to look at her. His eyes were slumberous and the tension had drained from his face, and she thought he must be the very picture of masculine satisfaction.

  Justine gave him a hesitant smile, not sure what was expected of her.

  “Ah, my virgin bride,” Griffin murmured in a somewhat mocking tone.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not anymore.”

  He smiled, but then something shifted in his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was husky and deep.

  “Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright,

  Her forehead ivory white,

  Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,

  Her lips like cherries charming men to bite.”

  Emulating the words of the poet, he leaned down and nipped her lower lip. Justine felt her bones turn to water all over
again, and found herself once more struggling with a tumbled mix of emotions. Who would have thought a man like Griffin Steele would recite florid love poetry to his wife, especially at a time like this?

  “Is that Spenser?” she asked, smiling up at him. “It’s very romantic.”

  He grinned before easing down to the cot, pulling her against his side so they could both fit. “Good guess, Mrs. Steele. Yes, it’s from the Epithalamion.”

  That surprised a snort of laughter from her. “How very apt. But I find it hard to believe that you have much time to sit around memorizing poetry. Don’t tell me you know the entire thing.”

  “No, just the salacious bits. After all, it is a poem about sex.” His fingers trailed over her shoulder, drawing little patterns on her skin. “And you’d be surprised what I do in my spare time.”

  She frowned at the cool, almost distant tone in his voice. If she didn’t know better, she might almost think her words had offended him. “Did you read much poetry when you were a boy?”

  “Milton and Donne, but my uncle would have certainly caned me if he found me wasting my time with Spenser. No, I was only able to expand my education once I came to London. And finally began making some money,” he finished in a dry voice.

  Justine was too surprised to respond. Griffin had a reputation for many things, but certainly not as a scholar or a collector of books. She realized again that there was a great deal about her husband she didn’t know. It was clear that he kept much of himself hidden, even from those closest to him.

  He let out a sigh and nudged her leg with his foot. “I suppose we’d better get dressed. The rain is letting up and there’s no telling when the groom will pop in and surprise us. Knowing us, it’s more likely to happen than not.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Justine replied with some regret. For some reason, she didn’t want to leave this room, perhaps because she still didn’t know how they were supposed to act toward each other. Was she now a proper wife, and would Griffin treat her as such? Or were they expected to go on as they had before, together only until the mystery of Stephen’s parentage was finally solved?

  When Griffin levered them up into a seating position, Justine couldn’t help wincing at the unfamiliar burn between her thighs.

  “I’m sorry, my sweet,” he said, wincing with her in sympathy. “You’ll feel better when you have a bath.”

  But when he got up, she grabbed his hand. “Griffin.”

  He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Yes, love?”

  Her heart throbbed at the casual endearment, but she beat back the emotion. “What happens now?”

  He looked blank for a second, then smiled. “We go back to the house, take baths, and then we have some dinner.”

  “No, I mean what happens between us?” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

  He stared at her as he pushed his hands back through his hair, impatiently thrusting it over his broad shoulders. Standing before her like that, naked and so powerfully masculine, he looked like some primitive warrior or perhaps a druidic priest. Her heart thumped hard again, and this time Justine could not hold back the pain.

  The pain of knowing that she was falling in love with Griffin, and believing he would never feel the same for her.

  “That remains to be seen,” he said bluntly. “Except for one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “There will no longer be any talk of annulment, Justine. Not anymore.”

  When he turned away to fetch their clothing, she was left to wonder whether he was pleased by that fact or simply resigned.

  Chapter Twenty

  Justine hurried down the hallway, buttoning up her sleeve as she went. She was already terribly late for dinner, as Phelps had reminded her when he’d come knocking on her door. She had no excuse since Rose had all but shoved her out of the nursery earlier and told her to get changed. But Justine hadn’t wanted to leave Stephen, since his sniffles had developed into a miserable cold.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve cared for a sick wee one,” Rose had said. “But if it makes you feel any better, you can sit up with him for the first part of the night. That way I can snatch a bit of sleep.”

  Justine’s relief at having a logical excuse to avoid spending the night with Griffin told her all she needed to know about the state of her nerves after their earth-shattering encounter in the stables. As glorious as her first sexual experience had been, her emotions were still in turmoil and she dreaded being alone with him.

  After they’d returned to the house, Griffin had planted an affectionate kiss on the tip of her nose and sent her upstairs to bathe. Feeling ridiculously awkward, she had simply given him a grateful smile and headed up the staircase. But when she reached the top and glanced down, she was startled to see Griffin’s dark eyes locked on her. His smile had disappeared and his impassive gaze had revealed nothing of his emotions. She’d shivered, and not from the cold or from her rain-dampened skirts.

  Their lovemaking had changed everything, forever erasing Justine’s half-formed and admittedly naïve plans to seek an annulment. Since she hadn’t a clue how her husband truly felt about her—aside from the fact that he took pleasure in her body—that thought was unnerving.

  As to her state of mind and heart . . . it wasn’t comforting. Consummation of their marriage had shown her quite clearly that she was falling in love with her husband. Not that she intended to share that fact. Instinct told her that Griffin would label such a declaration of emotion as inconvenient sentimentality.

  When she came to the bottom of the stairs, Phelps appeared from the back to show her into dinner. “Mr. Griffin’s waiting for you in the small dining parlor, missus. He said to serve as soon as you come down.”

  Justine gave Phelps a weak smile, knowing she’d forced Griffin to wait for his dinner. She couldn’t help mentally wincing at the way she’d been dragging her feet like a guilt-ridden child afraid to face the consequences of her actions.

  Silently scolding herself for acting like a ninny, she plastered a smile on her face, determined to look entirely composed and in control. After all, she was his wife, and she’d done nothing more than spend the afternoon with her lawfully wedded husband. The fact that they’d spent that time engaging in delicious sexual intimacies, in a stable no less, had no bearing on the present situation or the fact that she was late for dinner.

  Since Phelps replied to her bright smile merely with a shake of the head and a few muttered words under his breath, Justine rather suspected she’d failed to pull it off. Sighing, she walked into the room knowing she probably looked flustered and out of sorts.

  “Ah, my love, there you are,” Griffin said in a gently ironic voice as he rose from the dining table. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to send a Bow Street Runner to track you down.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I took forever with my bath, which was quite selfish of me, I know, and then I wanted to spend time with the baby. He’s not feeling well, you know, and I can’t help being a bit worried about him. Rose says I worry too much, but one never knows with these sorts of illnesses in infants. They can quickly grow into something quite serious if not properly attended to.”

  If Griffin thought she was babbling he kept it to himself. He simply let the words flow around him as he crossed the small but pleasant room to lead her to her chair.

  They’d agreed on the first day that the formal dining room was much too large for just the two of them, and so had settled on one of the smaller drawing rooms as a dinner parlor. The room was both intimate and comfortable with its oak paneling and burgundy velvet drapes to keep out the winter drafts. The smaller table allowed them to talk easily instead of shouting at each other from the ends of a formal dining room table. Tonight, though, Justine almost wished she had a good twenty feet of polished mahogany between them.

  When she sat, Griffin surprised her by dropping a kiss on her head before returning to his seat. She blushed, but the tight feeling in her chest subs
ided. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit discomposed by the day’s momentous events, which she took as a good sign. Well, at least she hoped it was a good sign and not an indication that the consummation of their marriage, to her fraught with significance, was to Griffin just another of a long series of encounters with willing partners.

  That gloomy thought effectively silenced any impulse she had to talk. Fortunately, Phelps had come into the room with the first course, rendering further comment unnecessary. While the factotum served the soup and arranged a few other dishes on the table, he and Griffin exchanged pithy remarks on the lamentable state of the weather and the disastrous state of the roads. Despite what Griffin had told her last night, country living was clearly not something he found particularly desirable.

  As soon as Phelps carried the soup tureen from the room, Griffin switched his attention back to her. Although he appeared completely at his ease, Justine couldn’t fail to note the sharpness of his gaze while he studied her.

  “Justine, are you feeling shy about our lovemaking?” he asked. “I hope you realize there’s no need for that sort of thing. Not with me.”

  His question was so unexpected that she almost choked on her spoonful of Hessian soup. “No, of course not,” she said, trying not to sound mortified. “Why ever would you think that?”

  “Because you can’t look me in the eye,” he said as he casually broke off a chunk of bread from the crusty loaf by his plate. “And your cheeks are so flushed that one might think you were feverish, and not the baby.”

  She was beginning to find his offhand manner irritating. “What happened between us this afternoon might not mean very much to you, but it’s not something I’ve ever done before. It was all rather earth-shattering for me, if you want to know the truth.”